


What Nightmares May Come

by PeachWord



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Trauma, Violence, dark themes, set between seasons 5/6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:39:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3063014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachWord/pseuds/PeachWord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal is held captive for four months, once he is rescued, it appears his nightmare is over. It's not. Not set in any particular season, but not season 6 compliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Wake up, Neal. Wake up,” Peter said as he rubbed the younger man's arm. Sweat covered Neal’s face and neck; his whole body shined hot with sickness.

“No…stop…stop,” Neal cried as he opened his eyes.

“It’s okay, you’re safe. You’re in the hospital.”

With his eyes fully open now, they widened in what Peter would describe as absolute fear. “Stop! Please!” Neal yelled at the top of his lungs as he pulled his arm out of Peter’s grip. He turned onto his side and brought his feet up to his chest, curling his body into tight a ball as it would go. “Stop!”

The machines connected to him were now going haywire. Peter did nothing but stay back and listen to Neal’s sobs as a doctor and nurse rushed in and attempted to calm their patient.

“Go away! Get away from me! I don’t like this!” Neal screamed as they put their hands on him.

 ****

“You’re just going to leave him like that? Put restraints on him and that’s it? No xanax, no haldol, not even a fucking Tylenol?!” Peter said to the doctor 10 minutes later in the hallway.

“Agent Burke, whatever hallucinogens his captors injected into him, which by the way is a strand I’ve never seen before, is still running through his system. I can’t compromise that.”

“And how long is this supposed to last? He’s being tortured in there, can’t you see?”

“I do,” the doctor nodded, “unfortunately, there is nothing I can do right now. All I can do is make him comfortable.

Peter turned to the glass window. Neal’s wrists were bound by white nylon restraints. He watched helplessly as he twisted and turned, sweat and tears covered his face, inhumane screams escaped loudly from trembling lips. “How…how long will he stay like this?”

“He should exhaust himself to sleep rather soon at the rate he’s going. Again, I’ve never seen this type of drug, so I can’t say with certainty how long the effects will last. I’m pumping as much saline water as I safely can through his system to help flush it out. Its touch and go for now. I’m sorry.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Neal’s body deflate with movement. He was asleep. “Okay, thank you, Doctor.”

Peter again entered Neal’s room. He picked up the chair, now on its side from when Neal kicked it viciously moments before, and dragged it to the bedside. He sat and watched his friend sleep. Bruises covered every inch of skin that was exposed. Rope burns protruded against his pale skinned wrists and neck. Fresh blood trickled down his left arm from where he pulled his IV out.

Sweat still covered his face and Peter could see that even though his eyes were closed, they were moving back and forth, scared, looking for an escape route inside his brain of present torture. His lips moved, slurred words dragged out of them. “Stop…stop…stop…”

“What did they do to you, Neal?” Peter whispered.

 ****

Neal’s eyes opened slowly. He blinked once, twice, three times. Then he shut them close, hard. That man was standing in the corner. He couldn’t see his face…or maybe he could, but he couldn’t describe it. He could however see the man’s eyes, they were open freakishly wide; a big fat grin covered his face, too many white teeth glowed and stared at him through the darkness.

The man, he never seemed to go away. He would always just stand in the corner, smiling; torturing him with his perverse stillness.

 _“Neal, wake up. Wake up.”_ That voice, Peter’s voice, echoed off the walls, filled his eardrums. He never saw Peter though.

Eventually he would yell, ‘stop…stop!’ He wanted Peter to stop calling for him. Peter wasn’t here, so why did he keep telling him to wake up? That man, smiling in the corner, wouldn’t let him.

When he tried to get up off the cold cement floor, he never got far. Welded cement kept his wrists encased in chains that were nailed to the floor. He’d always thrash his limbs desperately. He could sit, but never could he stand; metal around his neck prevented him.

That’s when the smiling man would laugh--loud, harsh laughs that seemed to be filled with sick joy.

Neal never knew what was so funny.

 *****

“In here?” Peter said before he realized it was a rhetorical question. Of course this was the room, the room where Neal had been held captive for four months.

“Yes,” Diana answered. She didn’t utter another word, afraid if she did she would vomit.

Peter nodded, but he made no effort to take a step inside. He fiddled with the latex gloves covering his hands, taking unnecessary seconds to make sure they were securely snapped to his skin.

“Peter,” Jones said.

He looked up from his hands, which were visibly shaking. “What?”

Jones shook his head. “Don’t…don’t go in there.”

He parted his lips, he had every intention of saying something.

“Just don’t,” Jones said before he could, this time in a more defiant tone.

Peter bit his lip. After a minute he nodded and turned around. He had one glove off before he stopped and turned back around.

“Boss--” Diana began.

“No. It’s not fair. Neal didn’t want to go in there,” he said.

Jones took a deep breath and moved aside, giving Peter room to enter the space behind him.

The smell hit him first. He knew he could breathe the freshest roses for days and _this_ smell would never leave his nostrils. He couldn’t quite compare it to anything, but he knew with great certainty it was the smell of death. Or someone who desperately wished for it.

There were no windows, no lights; if the door was closed it would have melted into the wall.

More red painted the cement walls and floor than did gray. A blue checkered shirt was in the corner, ripped, shredded to pieces. Clumps of dark hair were in various spots, as if they had been ripped from a scalp and discarded. Four steel chains were bolted to the floor. One for each limb.

The word ‘help’ was painted in blood on the floor.

He lasted longer in there than his other agents on the scene had. Three minutes. After that, it took him 15 to stop vomiting.

 **** 

“There’s another room,” Diana said.

“You mean…”

Diana shook her head. “It seems to be a panic room of sorts. We almost missed not seeing it.”

“I want to see it.”

She nodded and walked down the drafty hallway. Peter wondered how such a small ranch-styled house, in the middle of upstate New York, could have housed such a big hell.

“Christ…” Peter muttered under his breath as he took in the room hidden behind another. On the walls was picture after picture of Neal. There he was on the corner of 5th avenue, smiling; drinking an iced soy chai latte Peter would always make fun when he ordered it, outside the Federal Plaza building; on his balcony at June, smoking a cigar. A map of New York City was on the wall too, red mark circled and starred places Neal was known to frequent.

More pictures were on the table, next to the computer. Neal was chained to that floor, in that room. Blood on his face, on his naked back, bruises closing his eyes shut, tears rolling down his sunken cheeks.

“Wh…what’s on the computer?” Peter whispered.

“We don’t know yet. No fingerprints have been found on the keyboard or mouse so far. The guys from tech should be here soon. They’ll make a copy of the hard drive.”

Peter tilted his head slightly. “There’s a draw, underneath it…” He bent down and slowly pulled it open, almost not wanting to know what was inside.

Hundreds of CD discs lined the shelf. Their invisible covers were dated, the same days Neal was missing. He saw a plastic bag at the end. He grabbed it with his latex covered hand. In bright blue ink, the word ‘Neal’ was written on it. A locket of hair was inside.

“Boss,” Jones said.

Peter wiped his eyes with his shoulder before standing up. “Yea?”

“I just got off the phone with the hospital. Neal is awake. He’s lucid and he’s asking for you.”

 ****

 Peter knocked before stepping past the already open door. He had become accustomed to just walking in the last five days, but now that he knew Neal was awake, he wanted to make sure he didn’t startle him.

He was sitting up. A second thin blue blanket covered him from the waist down. His fingers scrunched the top, near his stomach, as if he were holding onto it  for dear life. He was.

“Hi, Neal,” Peter said quietly.

Neal blinked tiredly, his eyes never leaving Peter as he slowly made his way to the chair next to him and sat down. He also watched as Peter kept his hands empty and in plain view.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Neal.”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what Peter was sorry about; about not finding him sooner, about thinking he ran when he didn’t, about what happened to him.

“I’m going to get whoever is responsible for this, Neal. I promise. Okay?”

Peter didn’t expect an answer, he didn’t expect anything. He didn’t know what Neal was thinking; hell, he didn’t even know what he himself was thinking. All he could do what sit, stare at his best friend who had been through the pits of hell, and assure him he was safe--even if he looked anything but.

Neal watched with timid curiosity when Peter raised his palm, as if he were showing there was nothing hiding in his hand. He brought it closer, slowly, until finally it touched the top of his.

He could have snatched his hand back, started screaming, started thrashing; but he didn’t. He felt something he hadn’t felt in months: human contact, but it was warm and caring and it didn’t seem to be glistened with the intention of hurting him. The warmth spread from his hand and seemed to travel through his veins to his stomach.

Finally, it settled in his chest and exploded.

Neal brought his free hand to his mouth to muffle the sobs he couldn’t seem to control, but it didn’t help. The cries were loud and almost seemed gruesome. His whole body shook and more tears spilled from his eyes.

Peter didn’t move his hand; instead he stood up and sat on the bed. He wrapped his other arm around Neal’s shoulder and gently leaned him into his chest.

Neal squeezed Peter’s hand as hard as he could and his sobs grew louder. He really was in the room with him this time.

He was finally safe.


	2. Chapter 2

“No way. Absolutely not,” Peter said firmly.

“You have to, it’s part of his deal,” Bruce, his boss, said.

“There is no way I’m putting this anklet on him. I will fight you tooth and nail on that.”

Bruce sighed and nodded as he placed the black plastic tracking device back on the desk. “Thought you might say that, but that kid has been known to flee--”

“ _That kid_ , whose name is Neal, has been beaten, starved, and chained to a dark locked room for four months straight. If you think for one second I’m going to bound him, even in the slightest form such as an electronic anklet, you are so wrongly mistaken.”

“The U.S. Marshals--”

“You let me deal with the U.S. Marshals. If they have a problem with it, then good, it will stay that way. It’s _their_ problem.”

“Peter--”

“If I have to sit with him 24/7 to assure them of something, I’ll do it, with a smile on my face no less. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have suspects to question.”

 ****

  “Mr. Caffrey, if you could just remember anything about your time in captivity, it would really help with my investigation,” Detective Jake Kelly said.

Neal eyed the 6 foot green eyed man, particularly the gold chain he was twisting and untwisting around his neck. He could tell he was testing his patience, but he could also tell he was running out of it. “I…don’t remember anything,” he said. He spoke so quietly it was almost inaudible.

Detective Kelly sighed as he looked at his blank note pad. “A tattoo? A piercing? Tall, thin, fat? A distinctive voice perhaps?”

Neal looked over at Peter, sitting in the same chair as yesterday and all the days before. He wished a nurse or doctor would come in, check on his IV, do something to interrupt this questioning. “I…I don’t know. It was dark. He only whispered when he spoke.”

“So it was a man?”

Neal nodded.

“So you remember something then…you remember a man….”

Peter clenched his jaw shut. He didn’t like the tone of Detective Kelly’s voice. It almost sounded as if he were accusing Neal of something.

“I don’t remember anything…I was on a lot of drugs, but I know it was a man, okay?”

“How do you know that if you keep saying you don’t remember?”

“Read my medical report,” Neal said. Peter bit his lip. He read it. _Extensive sexual trauma, rectal tear, severe bruising on buttocks and thighs._

Peter, lost in a furious silent rage, forced his face to spread a calm smile as he saw Neal turn to him out of the corner of his eye.

“I don’t feel good. I’m tired, I want to sleep,” he said.

Peter nodded. “Thank you, Detective. That’s enough for today.”

“Just one more thing, please,” he said as he dug into his manila folder. He took out 5 photos and laid them flat on the tray attached to Neal’s bed. They were mug shots. “We have these men in custody at the moment. Tell me if any one of them rings a bell.”

Neal slammed his eyes shut and shook his head. “I…really don’t want to look.”

Peter stood up quickly as soon as he saw Neal start to shake. “It’s time to go, Detective.”

Detective Kelly put his hand up. “Neal, if one of these guys is the guy, that’s it, he goes away to prison forever. I need you to look.”

Neal brought his hand to his eyes, to shield them further or to hide his tears. “I didn’t see anything!”

Detective Kelly, visibly frustrated, without really thinking, knocked over the empty plastic cup resting on the table. Neal jumped and let out a whimper as it tumbled down onto the linoleum floor.

Peter grabbed the mug shots and shoved them into the Detective’s chest. “Get the hell out of here. Now. If you can’t manage that on your own, I’d be more than happy to help you.”

  ****

 “He has to sleep,” the doctor said.

Peter nodded. “How long has it been?”

“Over 38 hours.”

“And he won’t take any medication?”

The doctor shook her head. “I’m taking the trauma he’s been through into consideration, but if he doesn’t rest, he’s exposing himself to a possible fever.”

Peter looked through the clear window. Neal was sitting by the window in a wheelchair, his thin bruised hand was resting on the sill. His fingers pressed against the cold glass, as if he wanted to touch the air outside. “I’ll talk to him.”

 **** 

“Hey,” Peter said as soon as he entered. He always made sure to acknowledge his presence whenever he entered his room, even if Neal knew it was him. Just to be sure.

Neal didn’t respond, his red eyes were kept on the trees outside. The skin underneath them was baggy, and a grey bluish pallor was developing on it. He was exhausted.

“So I was thinking, maybe we could go outside for a while, get some sun…” Peter said.

Neal turned his head and looked up. A small spark, one Peter hadn’t seen in over four months, ignited in his blue eyes. “Okay.”

It took 20 minutes, a stern look to the doctor from Peter, and three carefully hidden FBI agents dressed in medical attire sitting in various locations around the hospital courtyard, but they were outside.

Cool wind brushed past Neal face and he involuntarily shivered. Peter cursed himself silently for not placing a third blanket on him before they left. He grabbed his scarf and gently placed it around the younger man's neck.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Warm March sun shined through the clouds and the golden light washed over Neal’s face. With his eyes closed, he exhaled slowly. “Oh god,” he whispered as tears fell.

“Okay, okay…c’mon, it’s time to go back,” Peter said as he wrapped the blanket more securely around his brittle shoulders.

Neal grabbed his hand, “No, please…just another minute.”

Peter looked at him, past the tears, past the bruises. He needed this, desperately. He nodded. “Just a minute.”

15 minutes later, Peter wheeled Neal back inside the hospital as quietly as possible. He didn’t want to wake him up.

 ***** 

“El, what are you doing here?” Peter asked his wife, who was standing by the nurses’ desk. In her hand she had one of those green recyclable bags. He could already smell the deliciousness tucked away in the Tupperware.

A sad, somewhat pained look was already settled into her face before she spoke. “I just wanted to see Neal. He won’t let me or anyone else in though, except you.”

He furrowed his brow, confused by this. He looked at the nurse who held up his clipboard and nodded.

“I understand, but he really wants to see Neal,” she said as she tilted her head to the left. Peter turned and saw Mozzie, wearing a scarf around his mouth, in the corner. “You know what it takes for him to get himself in this place.”

 ****

 “Elizabeth is here, so is Mozzie,” Peter said softly.

“Jus…just wanna sleep,” Neal whispered. Peter didn’t want him to sleep anymore though. He already slept for 24 hours straight and his Doctor told him it was best to try and get Neal on a more traditional sleeping pattern.

“It might be nice…to see them. They really want to see you. Elizabeth brought homemade lentil soup. I think I even saw macadamia and cinnamon cookies in her bag.” Peter knew by Neal’s withering frame that he could really use a calorific treat. “C’mon, please?”

Neal ran his battered fingers through his hair; he didn’t miss the various little bald spots in the back. “Look at me…its not nice,” he said finally.

Peter took a deep breath. “You don’t always have to be best looking guy in the room. I think for once in his life, Mozzie wants to know what that feels like,” he said in a humorous tone.

Neal couldn’t help but give a small grin. “Okay,” he said as he pulled the thin blanket over his shoulders, trying his best to cover the bruises on his neck and chest; yellow and purple weren’t his best shades.

 **** 

“I think this guy, Charles Thomas, he’s our guy,” Detective Kelly said as he stared at the man sitting behind the glass in the interrogation room of the 49th street NYPD police station.

“How can you be sure, my team couldn’t ID a face on any of those DVDs,” Peter said. His fists clenched in white rage at the thought that this was the monster, sitting a mere 20 feet away from him.

“I’ve got several witnesses around the town of Elmira, where Neal was found, who say they recognize him.”

“This guy’s got quite the rap sheet,” Peter said as he looked at the paper in front of him. “Stalking, aggravated assault, battery.”

“Yep. Somehow he got clearance to work as a computer technician for Senco, a securities firm based in upstate New York. He was there for four months, upgrading the firewalls on their computer system.”

“At the same time Neal was missing,” Peter said as he looked over the guy’s w2s.

“I reviewed some of the work he was doing there. Data conversions, Dynamic Memory Access upgrades, fixing input output errors, securing network interface cards…”

“Look at you with the computer lingo, I can barely turn mine on,” Peter muttered as he continued looking over Charles Thomas’ file.

Detective Kelly traced his fingers over the gold chain around his neck, “I dabbled in a little bit in computer science myself…night courses at CUNY a few years ago.”

“Yea, what happened? You found out you liked being a detective better?”

Detective Kelly laughed. “Nah, found out I wasn’t very good at being a computer nerd.”

“Takes a special kind,” Peter said as he put the file down. “So this guy, have you gotten a confession yet?”

Detective Kelly shook his head. “No, we’re waiting on his lawyer that he requested. I think he was close to cracking though. I’ll get him, Agent Burke.”

Peter nodded. “You better,” he said as he headed for the door. “Let me know when you draw his blood, I want a sample of it sent to my division.”

“I thought Neal’s medical report said there wasn’t enough DNA found on him to get an accurate match if we found someone.”

“Yea, that’s true…but I’ll find a way to connect the dots. This guy is going away forever, and I want to guarantee that.”

“You’re not going to stick around? Question him yourself?” he asked.

Peter looked through the one way mirror. He shook his head, “I want to be absolutely sure this is the guy, then I’ll have my words with him.”


	3. Chapter 3

“I don’t like him,” Neal said after Detective Kelly left.

“I know his personality is a bit much and he asked you some tough questions there, Neal, but he’s just doing his job. He wants to put this guy away just as much as I do,” Peter said as he tied Neal’s shoe. “Bet you’re happy to get out of here, no more green jell-o, right?” It’s all he could ask to lighten the mood.

Neal played with the zipper on his hoodie as he stared mindlessly at the floor. “I...I just don’t like him, Peter.”

 ****

 “Maybe the guest room on the first floor would be better, just for a few days. I’m sure June could get it set up in just a few minutes,” Peter said he looked at the many stairs leading up to Neal’s apartment.

Neal leaned against the railing, panting rather heavily. His ribs were really burning, just after three steps; the next twelve seemed like a mountain but he wanted his bed, his shower, his slippers.

Peter could see the quiet, but fierce, determination in Neal’s eyes, pleading with himself to pull it together so that he could sleep like the prince he wasn’t in the palace he knew he didn’t deserve.

“Okay, let’s go another three steps. Ready?” Peter asked.

 ****

 “How’d he do today?”

“He’s had better days than today, Suit,” Mozzie said after he stepped out into the hallways and closed the door to Neal’s apartment.

“He didn’t eat then?” Peter asked.

“Oh he did. He ate half of the croque monsieur that Mrs. Suit made earlier, then he threw it up.”

Peter sighed. “Well, he’s only been out of the hospital for two weeks. The doctor said it would take awhile for his stomach to get back on track.”

“I’m going to get him one of those ice soy chai lattes he likes. Make sure he drinks the rest of the tea I made him, it has special herbals in it that helps with upset stomachs.”

Peter nodded. “Thanks, Mozzie, for helping me.”

“You’re welcome, but I’m not doing this to help you. I’m doing this to help Neal.”

 ****

 “Wow, that really smells awful,” Peter joked as he took a whiff at the liquid inside the tea cup.

Neal nodded but didn’t engage in any playful banter. The two sat at the table, watching the sun set until it melted into the black night. Peter glanced at him, he seemed particularly sad today.

“Neal…do you…”

“Do I what?”

“Do you want to talk?”

Neal could have asked ‘about what?’, but he didn’t because he knew what Peter wanted him to talk about. “No,” he whispered as he rubbed his tired eyes.

“You know you can though, to me, or to Mozzie, or to Elizabeth or to a therapist--”

“Please, I don’t want to.”

Peter nodded and bit his lip, to stop himself from spewing out anymore words that might upset him.

The vibrations his phone made as they rubbed against his keys led Peter to dip into his pocket and pull out the device. He opened it and put it on speaker. He didn’t have to look at the screen to know it was Elizabeth calling. She most likely wanted to know what she should make Neal for dinner if he was in the mood. Neal could use El’s sweet voice at the moment.

The two heard nothing but static at first.

“El?” Peter asked as he looked at the phone. He furrowed his brow to see it was a blocked number that had called.

“Hello, Agent Burke. Is Neal there?” a man whispered.

Peter looked at Neal; he shook his head rapidly as his eyes grew wide and filled with absolute terror. Shock and fear induced tears slipped out of his eyes.

“Tell him, if he’s there, that this isn’t over. He’s mine now, tomorrow, and forever. Tell him it won’t be long until I see him again,” the man whispered.

_Click_

Neal’s lips parted, but no words came out. He covered his mouth with his hand as more tears fell.

Peter quickly got up and put his hand on Neal’s trembling shoulder. “Neal?”

Neal twisted his body so Peter’s hand was shaken off of him. Peter crouched, so that he was eye level, “Lean forward, Neal. C’mon, listen to me,” he said as he gently guided his shoulders downward so that his chest was almost touching his knees.

Once he heard Neal take a few deep breathes, he knew he had to ask him something. “That was him, wasn’t it? The man who took you? You recognized his voice? You said he only spoke in whispers…”

“Y…ye…yes,” Neal stuttered in between sobs.

“Okay,” Peter said as he continued to rub Neal’s back gently. “Listen to me,” he said as he cupped Neal’s chin so that he was looking at him. Neal’s eyes were red and raw, salty water glistened on his cheeks, sweat trickled down his paled forehead. “We have him in custody; he’s in jail right now. He hasn’t made bail. The fact that you confirmed his voice means I can put him away forever. He’s not getting to you, I promise.”

The tears didn’t stop and Peter wished he could have said something else, anything else to calm him down. He watched as Neal slammed his eyes shut and felt his body shake even more. Flashback. He was having a flashback.

“Neal,” Peter said in a steady tone. “Neal…look at me.”

He suddenly stood up and his chair fell backwards due to his forceful ejection. He stumbled and Peter reached out to steady him but he pushed his arm away. He knew he couldn’t make it to the bathroom. His knees buckled as he collapsed against the counter, holding onto the edge of the sink for dear life. He threw up whatever tea was in his stomach.

“No, no, no,” Neal sobbed as he dry heaved.

“Okay…shh…,” Peter murmured as he rubbed Neal’s back and turned the faucet on. He turned slightly when he heard the door open. He instinctively reached for his holster but stopped when he saw the short man with glasses standing there, an iced soy chai latte in his hand. He looked very confused and quite alarmed.

“Neal, Mozzie is here,” Peter said. There was no need for surprises at the moment.

30 minutes, one xanax, and zero percent of latte drunken later, Neal was in bed.

 ****

 “Charles Thomas didn’t make any phone calls out of Rikers,” Jones said.

“Yes he did!” Peter shouted as he threw the log book on the table. “Detective Kelly here, was there from 6:32 to 7:08 for further interrogation. I got the phone call at 6:16. Charles Thomas made that phone call and then had the audacity to sit there and say he didn’t do anything.”

“Boss?” Diana said after a few knocks on the door. Peter waved her in. “I triangulated all cell phone service coming out of Riker’s yesterday between the hours of 5 and 6. 14 calls were made. 13 of the calls were traced, all came from the guards.”

“And the last?” he asked.

“It’s blocked. It was probably a burner phone. We can’t trace those.”

“That son of a bitch,” Detective Kelly muttered.

“I want to see him. I’m going there now,” Peter said as he reached for his keys.

“Agent Burke, wait,” Detective Kelly said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why the hell not?! I want to see this guy’s face when I tell him he’s going to fry. He thinks he can do whatever he wants? Play _these_ games? Not on my watch!” Peter shouted. “You should have seen Neal yesterday, Detective.”

“I have no doubt it was terrifying for him, but you’re angry--”

“Damn right I am!”

“Yes, and I believe I am right when I say that it might be difficult for you to control your anger if you see Charles right now. If you lose your shit, and you hit him or whatnot, his case will be thrown out on one of those bullshit technicalities. You don’t want _that_ , do you?”

Peter huffed and glanced at Diana. She nodded in agreement with the Detective. Peter dropped his keys back on the table. “No, I don’t want that.”

 ****

 “Something’s not right,” Peter said as he mindlessly tapped his pen against the table.

“What do you mean?” Jones asked.

“Look at Charles’ body language,” he said as he pointed at the computer screen. Peter was able to get the video surveillance of Detective Kelly’s interrogation from Riker’s. “He’s telling the truth when he said he doesn’t know who Neal Caffrey is.”

“Are you sure?”

On the tape, Charles was breathing heavily and unevenly, sweat dripped down his face, his hands shook. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“But there are witnesses who say they saw him upstate, he’s good with computers--”

“I know, I know. Everything adds up, perfectly. Too perfectly. Whoever did this to Neal, they’re not sloppy. They’re smart, calculated. They wouldn’t get caught, at least not a week after we found Neal.”

“I suppose so.”

“Jones, get whatever samples the hospital has, whatever DNA they found on Neal, I know it's not much but try cross sample them with this Charles guy. I think whoever did this is still out there,” Peter said as he button his jacket.

“Where are you going?” Jones asked.

“To the 49th precinct. I need to talk to Detective Kelly.”


	4. Chapter 4

As Peter waited inside Detective Kelly’s small office, located in the back of the precinct, he dialed Neal’s number for the third time. He’s probably sleeping, he thought as he glanced at his watch which read half past eight. It was still early in the night for him to be in bed, but Mozzie texted him before he left that he had been up for most of the day, so he guessed that was alright.

Detective Kelly’s desk was piled high with files. Peter wouldn't have guess these NYPD special victim detectives to be unorganized, Detective Kelly certainly wasn't.

Charles Thomas’s name flashed his eyes and his reached for the file. As he was looked through it, something else caught his eyes; half of a gold chain, the rest of it hidden under another pile. Peter found this somewhat odd. Detective Kelly seemed to wear this around his neck almost religiously.

He reached for it but stopped when he heard the door open. A young man, didn't look older than 18 years old, walked in.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said as he placed a stack of folders on the desk. “I was just dropping these off.”

“That’s okay," Peter said, clearing his throat.  "Would you happen to know when Detective Kelly is supposed to be back? I’ve been waiting here for almost forty minutes already.”

“Really?" the young man answered as he glanced at his watch. "Detective Kelly said he was just stepping out for some coffee.”

“Coffee? For forty minutes?” Is this where his good, hard earned tax money was going?

“Well, technically Detective Kelly doesn’t drink coffee. He always orders this weird drink. Iced soy chai latte.”

Peter stood still, unable to move, or think for that matter for a solid 30 seconds. “Did...did you say soy chai latte?”

“Iced soy chai latte. Always has to be iced.” 

Neal always had to drink his iced, Peter thought. He always said the soy didn't taste good warm.

“He’s obsessed with it," the young man said. "Just one day, out of the blue about five months ago he started drinking ‘em.”

“Hey! Probie! We need that Lorenzi file, pronto!” someone in the hallway yelled.

The probie’s smile disappeared. “I got to go,” he said as he turned towards the door. "Don't worry, I think he'll be back soon."

Peter’s heart was now racing at a pace too fast to detect. He reached for his cell phone and hit re-dial. "C'mon, Neal. Pick up, pick up," he muttered under his breath. "Dammit." It went to voice mail.

He called a different number this time. He took a step towards the door when the shiny gold flickered off the light and briefly blinded him. He reached for the chain with his trembling hand. It slipped from underneath the weight of the pile. When Peter saw it, he knew he wasn't breathing.

"No," he said. At the end of the chain was a locket of dark, wispy, wavy strands of hair.

“Peter, any updates?” the voice on the end of the line asked.

“Diana, get Jones and a few other agents, I need you to go to Neal’s apartment immediately.”


	5. Chapter 5

Neal lazily opened his eyes. First he thought his headache was back to play, but after a few seconds he realized it was someone knocking at his door.

He reached for his grey hoodie and wrapped it around his shoulders. He made a mental note to get sweat pants in a smaller size tomorrow as he pulled them tighter around his waist.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Detective Kelly.”

Neal didn’t open the door, he just let his hand rest on the lock above the knob. “Umm, yea?”

“Can I come in for a few minutes? I need to ask some follow up questions.”

Neal could feel his blood pressure rise, he didn’t like this guy. He didn’t like the looks he got from him, he didn’t like the questions he asked, and he was sure he didn’t want to be alone with him. He looked for his phone and sighed when he saw it was all the way on his bed.

“Neal?”

He couldn’t just tell the Detective to leave, could he? Peter told him he was just doing his job, right? Right, he was just playing things up in his head. He unlocked the door, but as soon as he did, his blood pressure seemed to increase. That nasty headache returned too when Detective Kelly entered without waiting to be asked to.

“Umm, what can I do for you, Detective?”

“Well, its been a while since you and I last spoke. I’m sure you’ve had some time to process some things, so I was just wondering if you can remember anything now? Maybe you can give me a facial description.”

Neal swallowed the lump in his throat as he closed the door. “No, I don’t remember anything.”

Detective Kelly glanced around the apartment. “Really? Because if you could just remember something, it would really help connect some of the dots for me.”

Neal glanced at his phone, it was lighting up, he forgot to turn it off silent it seemed. Someone was calling him, probably Peter. “Sorry. I can’t remember,” he said quietly.

Detective Kelly walked by the window, it was fairly dim in the apartment and the small lamp by the bed was the only thing giving light at the moment. “Good.”

“Wh…what? Why is that...good?” Neal asked.

Detective Kelly turned his head slightly and smirked. “Its good, Neal, because then they’ll never figure it out.”

Neal took a step back with his now trembling feet, one step closer to the door. “Figure…what out?”

Detective Kelly took a closer to him. “Figure out that it was me,” he whispered. He started laughing as he watched Neal’s eyes widen.

That voice...  It was the same low whisper, the exact one he heard yesterday…and everyday for four months straight. And it was that same laugh, the same horrible loud laugh that taunted him in the corner of that cell.

Was this another nightmare? He couldn’t breathe. His heart dropped to his stomach and his legs went numb, but he forced them to move. If he took big ones, then he was only five steps from the door. It was in his reach, he could almost imagine the cold metal touching his palm.

But he was too slow and the big hands were on him. One wrapped around the back of his neck, the other around his arm.

“No! We’re going to finish what we started, Neal,” Detective Kelly breathed into his ear.

He was back in the cell all of a sudden; cold, dark, the same hot breath blowing on his blood caked face. “I…I…I don’t want this,” he whimpered.

He was turned, his back slammed into the wall so hard he thinks the molding cracked behind him. Now he was looking into his captor’s eyes that were full of derangement, lust, and horror.

“Didn’t I tell you, beat it into you, that I don’t care what you want?” he asked as he tightened his grip around Neal’s neck. He took his other hand and placed it on Neal’s waist, his fingers crept slowly underneath his t-shirt and grazed the smooth skin underneath.

Neal squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening,” he repeated over and over.

Detective Kelly backhanded him across the face; fresh blood dripped from his mouth and the metallic taste of copper slicked his tongue. “I’ve told you a hundred times, to enjoy this, you have to be present in the moment. Now, this time is a very special moment. I want you to look at me. The entire time. Understand?”

The grip around his neck was getting tighter. Neal opened his eyes and did something he didn’t have the opportunity to do the last time he was with this sick psycho. He kneed him in the groin, hard.

Detective Kelly cried out and doubled over. The hands were off him and Neal ran for the door. He was one step away, just one when his face met the wooden floor. His left arm and side of his ribs screamed at the burning now exploding in them. He turned his head to see Detective Kelly with his hands around his left ankle.

He tried shaking his leg out of his grip but it was too strong. Then he felt that hand roam upwards. “No! No!” Neal screamed as his fingers tried desperately to find something in the wood beneath him to hold onto.

“Oh, that’s going to be trouble for you, Neal,” Detective Kelly said as he grabbed Neal’s sprained arm and heaved him upright. Neal thrashed; arms, legs, whatever he could to break free.

He was thrown harshly onto his bed. He made an attempt to get up, but strong hands on his chest and ribs pushed him down. Neal cried out in pain, the blood in his mouth traveled down his throat.

Detective Kelly kept one firm hand on his chest as he unbuckled his belt. “No, no, please! Please!” Neal screamed desperately. Out of the corner of his eyes, right by his pillow, he saw his phone light up again. He reached for it. Peter. It was Peter calling him again!

Neal pressed ‘accept’ and it automatically went on speaker. “Neal, don’t open the door, do you hear me--”

“Peter, help me! Help me!” Neal screamed.

Detective Kelly’s eyes widened in anger and he placed his palm over Neal’s mouth. “You little shit!” he yelled as he grabbed the phone and threw it at the wall. It shattered into pieces.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he sneered as he ripped open’s Neal’s t-shirt with his hands.

“Stop! Please!” Neal cried as he reached for the hands to push them away. The tears were burning his eyes and he felt like vomiting. A forceful hand slammed into his face, clocking him in his right eye. Another fist came after that, right in his nose. A warm hand, coated with his blood covered his mouth.

“Shhh. Don’t you remember, it’s better if you don’t scream,” Detective Kelly said as his other hand slipped under the waistband of Neal’s sweatpants. He grabbed Neal’s left arm and turned him onto his stomach. The heavy weight of his muscles prevented Neal from moving.

“Don’t…don’t do this…” Neal pleaded as more tears fell.

Detective Kelly placed his firm hand on Neal back and started kissing the back of his neck. He grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked as hard as he could. Neal screamed as the follicles left his scalp. “Just like old times, right, Neal?” he whispered.


	6. Chapter 6

“Goddammit!” Peter yelled as he threw his phone to the passenger seat and stepped on the gas. He blew threw another red, praying he didn’t hit anyone or anything. He was 21 blocks from June’s; he knew that was 21 blocks too far.

How did he not see it? He was too savvy with the computer terms, the way he just magically brought them a suspect, the way he said just the right things to keep him away from Charles Thomas, the way he said they weren’t going to find enough DNA to link anyone to the crime—it’s because he wiped his crime scene clean!

Or how about the way Neal outwardly said: ‘I don’t like him’?

That wasn't enough? It was all right there. Yet he was here, too far to stop the hell he knew was taking place on the other end of that phone. ‘Help me!’ Neal cried again in his head. Peter felt like vomiting as he recalled the terror in Neal’s voice. He could see his tears and the petrified look in his eyes already. Now Peter could do nothing  but speed through, thankfully, what was a yellow light; small favors, right?

He slammed on his breaks when he got in front of the old mansion. He didn’t bother to take the keys out of the ignition or slam his door shut, he just ran. He was at the front door, ringing and banging with his fists when he heard more SUVS drastically break to a stop.

Diana and Jones already had their guns drawn as they raced up the steps. By the time they got to the door, Elsa, the maid, had it open. She screamed and put her hands up as she stepped back. Peter knew someone would explain this to her later as he rushed up the stairs.

The door was locked, now wasn’t the time for manners so he lifted his left foot and kicked with all his might. The hinges exploded and blew off, sending the white wood to the ground.

“Neal!” he screamed as he entered with his gun drawn. He expected to see Detective Kelly, perhaps trying to make a run for it, or in the darker part of his mind, on top of Neal, taking what little dignity he thought he had left. He didn’t see any of that though.

Instead he saw Neal on his bed, alone.

Peter put his hand up to stop Jones, Diana, and the other agents from entering. “Neal?” he said as he rushed over.

A dark navy quilt covered his naked body from the waist down. A white t-shirt, ripped and stained with dark red spots was next to his hand, which he could see had sparse pieces of his hair in it. His naked chest revealed a deep scratch. Dried blood stained his chin, upper lip, and nose. The skin underneath his right cheek was already a light purple.

His eyes were open. His breathing was coming out long, hard, and ragged. Tears that never seemed to stop fell slowly and steadily down his cheeks.

“No…” Peter whispered. “Oh god, no, Neal...”

The shock Neal was in didn’t allow him to look at Peter or anything besides the vast space between himself and the ceiling. “You're too late,” he said quietly.


	7. Chapter 7

"Okay...okay," Peter whispered frantically as more realization of what happened settled in. He reached for a tissue on the nightstand and gravitated it towards Neal's nose.

He pressed the tissue against the dripping blood and upon the contact, Neal seemed to come out of his shock, hard. "Don't touch me!" he screamed as he flailed his arm at whoever was in front of him.

Peter didn't feel the burn coming from the fresh cut on his lip. He stepped back, feeling embarrassed that he should have known Neal would react this way. He put his hands up, doing anything to calm him.

"Don't touch me!" Neal screamed again. He turned on his side and curled into a ball, letting Peter see his back and the fresh red marks and scratches on it.  "Don't..." he sobbed.

Suddenly a loud piece of glass shattered. “Shit!” a man’s muffled voice said.

Peter grabbed his gun and headed for the door leading towards the hallway where the closet was.

He turned to Diana, “Stay with Neal. Don't touch him.” She nodded and lowered her weapon as she made her way to the bed. He turned to Jones and the three other agents. “Jones, cover me. You three, block every entrance in this house. Call for backup if you have to.”

 *****

“There’s no way out,” Peter said as he kept his gun steady. He didn't miss the the gun in Detective Kelly’s holster.

Detective Kelly smiled as he stepped over the broken vase. “There’s always a way out, Agent Burke.”

Peter shook his head, his anger seeped out with every word. “No, not this time.”

“That’s what you think. Do you know how easy it was to slip through your fingers? Through everyone’s fingers?”

“You mean the way you pinpointed this on Charles Kelly? The way you called me when you knew I was with Neal, from a burner phone? That innocent man is rotting in jail because of you.”

“I did what I had to do.”

“You didn’t have to do any of this.”

“Oh but I did. The first time I saw Neal Caffrey I knew I had to.”

“Don’t say his name, don’t you dare!” Peter screamed as he gripped his gun tighter.

Detective Kelly’s grin grew wider. “Looks like he got you good," he said as he clocked his head. "I wonder why he's not that feisty with me."

"You shut the hell up!" Peter yelled as the sweat in his palm involuntarily made him loosen the steel in his hands.

"You know, Burke, I think that saying ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ really is true. You don’t even know how good he felt right now.”

Peter pulled his trigger. The bullet went straight into the wall, past Detective Kelly’s head.

“Didn’t think you had it in you, Burke,” he said, still smiling.

“Peter, don’t shoot him. That’s what he wants,” Jones said.

“You’re sick, you know that, Detective? You actually had me convinced for a minute…and you were so smug…I can’t even believe you had the balls to question him, act like you were trying to help him--”

“Just taking any chance I could get near that pretty little thing.”

Peter bit his lip so hard he could taste the blood. “Put your hands up and face the wall.”

“No, I think I’m just going to walk out of here,” he said with that same smug grin on his face.

“Put your goddamn hands up and face the wall!” Jones yelled.

“Or what?” Detective Kelly asked. “You’ll shoot me? Not if I do it first!” he yelled as he reached for his gun.

Peter, already aimed, pulled the trigger again. It hit his body this time. In the shoulder. He kept his gun drawn as he took a step closer. Blood seeped out of the Detective shoulder slowly, like spilled milk dripping off the side of the table.

“You’re quicker than I thought, Burke,” he huffed as he reached for his gun, now sprawled inches from his hand.

“You’re never going to touch Neal again. Ever,” Peter stated. He moved his right foot towards the gun and kicked it towards Jones.

Detective Kelly quickly reached into his jacket and pulled out a 9mm hand gun. He put his fingers around the trigger and aimed it at Peter.

_BOOM!_

Peter’s last statement was true. The bullet in Detective Kelly’s chest made it such.


	8. Chapter 8

Although she wasn't touching him, she could see him shivering. Shivering with fear, with uneasiness, with sadness. She wouldn't cry, even though she desperately wanted to. Not here, not now. She held her nose as the aroma of cheap cologne, blood, and unwanted sex whiffed through her nostrils.

_BOOM!_

She threw her arms over him, making sure she covered Neal's head and exposed back. She didn't know what was happening, or whether Peter or Jones were okay, but she couldn't think about that now. She felt Neal try and back away from her, but she held on tighter to him. "It's me, Neal. I'm not here to hurt you," Diana said softly but firmly.

_BOOM!_

She tightened her grip as she heard another gunshot. Neal shivered harder, but he didn't try and get away from her. "Let him do it," Neal said.

"Do what?" she whispered. 

Neal looked up at her, his eyes red and raw, the tears mixing with the dried blood on his face. "He's getting closer. Let him kill me, okay?"

*****

“Boss, you okay?” Diana asked.

“Fine, where’s Neal?” Peter asked as his eyes frantically searched the apartment.

“Paramedics just took him, he’s on his way to the hospital. Where’s Kelly?”

“He pulled a gun at us. Twice. He’s dead,” Jones said.

Diane nodded. “Good.”

“Did…did he say anything?” Peter asked.

Diana didn't answer. She watched as an agent, whose name she couldn't remember, pick up Neal's bloodied and torn shirt off the bed and place it in a clear plastic bag labeled 'Evidence'. Then the black sweatpants were picked off the floor, folded, and placed away in there as well. Finally, the navy blanket was taken away. 

"Diana..."

"No," she said as she kept her eyes on the white bed sheets with blotches of blood spattering various spots.

*****

Peter watched Neal lie in that hospital bed, again; sleeping uncomfortably, again; sweat pooling around his forehead, again. his fingers twitching, again; his lip trembling, again.

“I’m right here, Neal,” Peter said when his eyes shot open.

He sat up quickly, the pain in his ribs obviously not reaching his distressed mind at the moment. “Oh god, Peter,” he breathed heavily. "I had this awful nightmare. I was in my apartment and Detective Kelly was there. He told me no would figure it out--”

“Neal--”

“And then you called me and I was screaming--”

“Neal--”

“And then, and then…and then he--”

“Neal!” he screamed. Neal stopped talking. His eyes wandered around the room, then they landed on his left arm. His face scrunched when he saw the white cast around it; he brought his fingers to his lips, then to his cheek and hissed when he touched the swollen skin.

“Peter…”

Peter watched helplessly as the realization swept into his blue eyes, followed by tears. He wanted to tell him so badly that it was indeed a nightmare he was having, but he couldn’t.

“I’m so sorry, Neal.”

Neal shook his head. “No…no. It didn’t happen. It didn’t happen!” he screamed at the tops of his lungs.

Peter stood up and placed his hands as gently as possible on Neal’s shaking shoulders. “I wish it didn’t, but it did. He’s never going to hurt you again, ever. He’s dead. Detective Kelly is dead.”

Neal didn’t acknowledge Peter’s words and he continued to cry and shake his head. “It didn’t happen! Nothing happened!”

Peter took a deep breathe. He sat on the bed and put his arm around Neal and pulled him closer. He tried to push him away but Peter took the risk and didn’t move. He gently rubbed Neal’s back and after a few seconds he felt some tension from his body dissipate.

Harsh sobs racked Neal's body. “It didn’t happen,” he whispered.


	9. Chapter 9

“Talk to me,” Peter said. Today marked the third day of Neal's complete silence. He didn’t say one word to anyone. Not to Peter, not to the doctor, not to the nurses, not to anyone. “Please, Neal.”

Neal turned his head slightly, his red eyes told him he was exhausted from lack of sleep, from crying so much and so hard, from everything.

“I…think…it wasn’t so bad, really. Now that I think about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was in my room, in my bed--”

“Neal, don’t do that--”

“It didn’t last that long…and you came right after he was...done using...”

Peter shook his head. “Don’t let him do this, please. Don’t let him make you think what he did was okay.”

Neal turned his head and stared at Peter, hard. “I have to.”

“No you don’t, Neal. What he did was wrong, so very wrong. It’s never okay for him or anyone else to do what he did to you. No one should ‘use’ anyone.”

He didn’t respond, he just looked away again.

Peter slid off the chair, his knees now on the hard floor. He leaned forward and rested his stomach against the side of the bed, as gently as he could, he put his hand on Neal's. “You have to understand that, okay? You have to understand that.”

Neal nodded, but he still wouldn’t look at Peter. “Yea.”

 ******

“I just feel awful,” June said as she poured Peter a cup of tea.

“It wasn’t your fault, June. Not by any means.”

“I know that, but it happened under my roof…and that man--”

“Is dead.”

June reached for her napkin and dabbed it under her eyes. “When I think about what he did to Neal, in that room he loved so much…”

“He came back though, didn’t he? It’s not the same room he was in, but he came back.”

June nodded. "Yes." She ran her finger over her expensive pink diamond bracelet and cleared her throat. “He’s not the same, you know.”

Peter nodded. “He might never be the same, June.”

“Sometimes, when I get to bed late, or when I wake up in the middle of the night, I hear him. Crying.”

Peter didn't respond. He just sat there and watched the steam rise from the pretty white china.

“I get him to eat when I can, but that xanax he takes makes his appetite almost non-existent. He looks better than he did a month ago, after he left the hospital, but not by much.”

“I’ve been urging him to see a psychiatrist…but you know how he is.”

“Well the form of therapy he’s taking now, walking on that treadmill all day, certainly won’t help him.”

 ******

Peter found it strange, and in any other circumstance he would have found it humorous, to see Neal Caffrey in baggy Nike shorts and a loose t-shirt, with running shoes on, walking on the expensive treadmill June had in her home gym.

“You’ll wear the soles of those sneakers out,” Peter commented after he entered.

Neal lifted the remote in his hand and put the television on mute, he only watched CNN to read the ticker at the bottom anyways. Those stock quotes always interested him.

“No I won’t. I’m only going 2 miles per hour,” Neal answered as he continued his slow, steady, mindless pace.

“June says you spend a lot of time in here. Up to 5 hours a day sometimes.”

Neal shrugged. “I like it in here. I feel relaxed.”

“Neal--”

“My doctor said light exercise was okay,” he said before Peter had the chance to put his new activity down.

Peter walked over to the treadmill and pressed the ‘off’’ button. Neal sighed in an exaggerated manner. “What?”

“I want you to talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” he asked as he pressed the ‘on’ button.

“You know what I mean..”

Neal didn’t say anything, he just continued to walk and watch the green ticker at the bottom of the screen.

“Neal, that’s not what I--”

“Yea, I know what you meant,” he said firmly. He turned the volume up after that.


	10. Chapter 10

“What are you doing in here, Neal?” Peter asked when he finally spotted him on the floor in the corner of the bedroom. He looked terrible. His cheeks were sunken in, a pale grey pallor shined from his skin, tension racked his bones so badly that he even looked to be pain just sitting there.

Neal shrugged his shoulders.

“Do you come in here a lot?” Peter asked as he sat down near him.

“No,” he answered as he traced the wooden floor with his finger. "Just once or twice, maybe."

Peter nodded, not sure where to go from there. Sadness plagued Neal’s features, he looked lost in deep thought, or perhaps he just looked lost in general. Peter couldn't think of anything to say that would cheer him up without it sounding like bullshit, so he didn't say anything. After about ten minutes of total silence, he decided he would ask Neal if he wanted to eat something, because the more he thought about, the more he sat in his old apartment, the more he decided it was best Neal not be in here. He didn't get to ask him though.  

“When I was in that room, chained to that floor, for four months," Neal said suddenly, "…I never thought about death.”

“Wh…what did you think about?” Peter asked in a soft tone.

“A lot of different things. The smell of my mom’s fresh baked cookies, the first time I kissed Kate, this awful looking goatee Mozzie had back in the day, those late night stakeouts you and I went on…stuff like that.”

All good things, all things that forced Neal to take his mind elsewhere, all that allowed him to escape. Peter could feel the water building in his eyes, but he forced them not to fall. “Those are nice things, Neal.”

“But then…when I was on that bed,” Neal said as he raised his head and shot his eyes to the mattress, “when he pinned me down, held my throat so tight I couldn’t breathe, and…and forced himself on me…again, I did think about it. About dying. About how good that might be.”

Peter took a deep breath, wanting to say something to rebuff that, but he didn’t. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t like the words coming out of Neal’s mouth, but they were honest words, about how he felt, and he wouldn’t tell him he was wrong. He had no right to.

Neal ran his hand over his face, wiping away the tears he knew were falling.

“And what…Detective Jake Kelly…took from me…my dignity, my self-worth, my happiness…I might not ever get those things back, not for a while at least…”

Peter scooted closer to Neal and put his arm around his shaking shoulders. Neal seemed to melt into his chest as more tears exploded in his eyes.

“But I don’t want to die, Peter," he sobbed. "I want to live. I want _my_ life back, not the one he tried to leave me with. And you, Elizabeth, June, Mozzie, even Jones and Diana…you all make me really want to try to have it.”

Peter wiped away his own tears before leaning back. He put both of his hands on Neal's shoulder so they were looking straight at each other. “You listen to me, I’ve known Neal Caffrey for about a decade now, and if there’s one thing I know about him it’s this: he always finds a way to get what he wants. He makes damn sure of it, no matter how long it takes. You hear me?”

Neal looked at Peter, his eyes wide as if he didn't believe him or as if he was afraid to say yes.

"You hear me, Neal?" he asked again.

Neal bit his bottom lip and after few seconds, nodded. "Yes."

Peter leaned forward and hugged him. He felt his shaking decrease as he inhaled and exhaled deeply. Peter let out a deep breath of his own. Neal’s nightmare was over.

Now it was time for him to dream.


End file.
